Man Down
by ashestoashesanddusttodust
Summary: The war never broke Captain Cullen Rutherford, but adjusting back to life back home just might if he doesn't swallow his pride and look for the help he needs. Cullen x Alistair
1. Chapter 1

**Man Down  
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**Notes:** Request for these two going to group therapy for PTSD and Alistair grows fond of the new guy super quickly as they just click.

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Despite being nearly half an hour early Cullen's not the first one in the room and he falters when the single man there turns to look at him. He's wearing jeans with holes and boots scuffed from constant use. Not a therapist of any kind. He's got the muscular build of a grunt, hair that rules him out of the Marines, and shadows under the eyes that look like they could rival the ones Cullen sees in the mirror.

"New guy, huh?" The other man offers him a grin that looks easy even as he does his own examination. Cullen wonders what he sees. "I'd make a joke about this being a new level of hell, but it's the VA and you already know that. It's really not that bad anyway. Hell, you don't even need to talk if you don't want to."

"That doesn't seem like it'd work," Cullen eases into the room a bit more cautiously. He takes in the loose grouping of chairs and couches. None of them are separated enough from the obvious focal point for his comfort, and there's no room to create his own space.

"We bitch," the man kicks at the chair closest to him in invitation. "About everything and anything. That's all therapy is supposed to be isn't it?"

"No idea," Cullen takes the seat and turns it so his back is to the wall instead of the door. It's not as good as a spot in the corner but it won't make his shoulders itch at being exposed. "Never been to one of these things before."

"It's not bad, just think of it as a less structured AAR," the man repeats with a lazy shrug and Cullen relaxes a little because this is familiar enough for him. Even if the civvies they're both wearing makes the talks a little more shocking than it should be. There's an ease in talking to a fellow soldier that Cullen's missed. "The hardest part is just walking through the door. Well, no I guess that's not true. Parking is the true nightmare really!"

Cullen barks out a laugh because that's true. For the size of the hospital there's shockingly little parking for it and he'd almost crashed trying to get the spot he did eventually get.

"Rutherford," Cullen offers and then grimaces as he corrects himself. "_Cullen_ Rutherford, I mean."

It's simple in the military. Last names unless you're really close buddies, and only when off duty. Cullen always trips over which name he should give. Neither of them is currently in so there's no protocol to follow on this.

"Alistair Theirin," the man shoots off a cocky two finger salute and doesn't say anything about his fumbling. Probably used to it himself. "So, if it's not terribly pushy, why'd you decide to come anyway?"

And just like that, all the ease is gone. It's like magic, really, how fast Cullen's whole mood plummets. He picks at a scab on his hand that's been there for months and bites the tip of his tongue on the reflexive urge to tell the man to fuck right the hell off. It's a normal question. He should be suspicious if it isn't asked. This is why he's here after all. To _talk_.

"I wrapped my truck around a tree," Alistair says into the silence as it stretches out into discomfort. He shatters the rising tension with a grin. Wry and entirely self-mocking. "Had a nice cocktail of meds and tequila that made it seem like such a _great_ idea at the time."

"Driving?" Cullen asks with a smile that feels like a grimace at the mention of meds. Painkillers most likely and Cullen's all too aware of how that slippery slide goes.

"Killing myself," Alistair denies with an ease that's shockingly candid. He looks Cullen in the eyes as he says it. Neither ashamed nor embarrassed by it, and Cullen swallows as he looks away. Back to his hand because that level of raw honesty is impressive and shaming.

"I-" Impressive, brave and Cullen feels small next to it. He doesn't need to be here. This is for people who _really_ need the help and all he's going to do is take that resource away from them when they need it most. "My sister," Cullen explains and shrugs. Not quite looking up at Alistair. "She signed me up for this. Somehow. And..."

Cullen trails off and stares at the wall just over the other man's headas he winces under the roiling ball of shame and guilt that hadn't let him ignore his alarm this morning.

She'd cried. Fat tears that rolled down her cheeks as she confessed that he scared her sometimes, but it was the sight of the bruise around her wrist -"It doesn't really hurt," she'd lied- that had nearly destroyed him. He blows out a breath and rubs the back of his neck hard. He _does_ need to be here. For no other reason than that.

"I get angry," and paranoid and high when he can't deal with the strength of them both at the same time. Extremely so, and there's days Cullen can't remember as anything but blurs of emotion wringing him dry along with the absolute and almost hysterical certainty that someone was hunting him in his own home.

It's not a complete answer but Alistair nods. Reading in-between the lines and not pushing. Cullen's grateful for it even as a couple of guys wander in with steaming cups of coffee. He can see three more out in the hallway and it's almost time to start. Cullen's disappointed. Surprisingly so and not just for the fact he's going to have to try to open up to more people.

"Hey," Alistair reaches out slowly, the motion drawing Cullen's eyes back in time so that he can see it before the man touches his arm. A small courtesy that Cullen appreciates. "Say as little or as much as you want," Alistair grins, lopsided and full of humor. A joke he wants to share with Cullen that relaxes him some. "Really, don't worry about it. I can talk enough for five men if needed. Just flail or something in my general direction when you need me to have your back and I got it for you."

Cullen smiles and leans back in his chair as a man dressed a little too professionally stops outside the door to talk to the people lingering out there. He has a single folder and lanyard with IDs around his neck. It doesn't take a lot to figure out who he is. The man's older and has the kind of soft face that makes him think he's automatically nice. A dumb assumption but Cullen will take what comfort he can.

Like Alistair's hand still lingering on his arm. Warm and far too comforting. Familiar too and that makes Cullen pause. His mind stalling a bit as another tension rises -slow, almost reluctantly- as he turns his head to look at Alistair again.

The man is facing the door but he's watching Cullen carefully, and that solidifies that thought. Cullen licks the backs of his teeth and thinks about pulling away for half a second.

The weight of Alistair's hand is comforting though, and he rather likes the way the man's lips curve up when he leans towards him and doesn't pull away. The change in tension is welcome too. Edgy enough to push out the suffocating dread he's been dealing with all morning. Not completely, but enough that Cullen thinks he can get through this group meeting without losing his temper by concentrating on it.

"There's a coffee shop a block away," Alistair leans in close just before the therapist comes in. Voice low enough not to carry. "If you want to have some caffeine and not talk for a while after this."

The therapist introduces himself shortly after that with a smile that's not as warm or inviting of secrets as Alistair's, but Cullen thinks he can wait to reserve judgement for the moment. At least he has coffee to look forward to afterwards to hold him over.

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	2. Edited For Site Reasons

**Man Down  
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**Notes:** There was going to be more plot here, but obviously that didn't happen. At all. Nope. Just PWP. Chapter edited to comply with site guidelines. Check Ao3 for the unedited version.

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It's not terrible, but Cullen still feels like he'd rather be just about anywhere else even though he doesn't talk all that much in the end. He's left frustrated and relieved by that. Dual emotions that he swallows back down along with the urge for something stronger than the coffee he doesn't need.

Alistair doesn't look like he needs coffee either and not just because of the bags under his eyes. The man's all over the place as they walk. Physically and mentally it seems, and Cullen quickly loses the trail of the conversation in minutes.

The other man talks with his hands when he's nervous. Cullen noted it earlier during the meeting when Alistair had done a remarkable job of deflecting some pointed questions. Remarkable in how obviously the maneuver was done and in how it still actually worked. By the time they reach a block with several small store fronts and cafes Cullen is actively dodging Alistair's hands and elbows.

They're outside an apartment building when Alistair actually stumbles. His feet turn towards the door but the rest of him keeps going forward. He slows in the confusion and half turns to go in before jerking to a stop.

There's a series of pinkish scars on Alistair's hands. Burns on his knuckles that trail up under the fraying cuffs of his shirt. Flesh that is slow to heal because hands never stay still long enough not to tear the wounds open again. Cullen takes that into account as he calculates how long it'd take a man to get another car after failing suicide in one. Longer than Alistair's been out of the hospital, and long enough for the man to get a place in walking distance of the VA apparently.

Cullen bites the inside of his lip as he looks up at what has to be Alistair's place. Neither of them really needs the coffee. The excuse has already played out long enough.

"Do you-" Cullen catches a bit of the nerves Alistair has been showing and licks his dry lips before clearing his throat and starting again. "Do you want to skip the coffee?"

"Oh god, can we?" Alistair asks immediately with obvious relief. "How embarrassing is it that I was worried about dropping coffee all over myself because I'm too busy thinking about-"

Thinking what, Cullen doesn't find out because Alistair cuts himself off with a loud and fake cough. Pressing a fist to his mouth as his cheeks redden in embarrassment but his eyes are dark enough that Cullen's got a damn good idea of what he's trying not to say anyway. "Not really that embarrassing."

"Right then, I live here. If you want to come up for some skipped coffee. Or no coffee or whatever we're calling it now," Alistair turns to the building in an apparent attempt to cut his own rambling off with action. "Uh, sorry, I don't normally do this by the way."

Cullen follows and doesn't speak until they're in a creaky elevator going up to the top floor. The air between them is heavy with that pleasant tension that had pulled him through the meeting earlier.

"Neither do I," Cullen confesses and wonders if he can reach out to touch the other man now or not. "Not sober anyway, but you're..." Funny, understanding, there in a way Cullen has started doubting others are. A stupid thought to have for a man he's only known a few hours, but Cullen's always put a lot of weight on first impressions.

"Devastatingly good looking? Wonderfully clever?" Alistair cracks with a grin but there's a slight waver to it that bolsters Cullen's resolve even though he's past the point of backing out now.

There's muscle and hard bone under his fingers when he slowly reaches out to curl them around Alistair's wrist. He's hot to the touch and it turns the expectant tension to pure electricity.

"I think you are kind of wonderful," Cullen jokes. Truthfully he wouldn't object either label but he'd add cute or adorable to it. Especially when Alistair goes red again under the honest compliment.

The elevator opens with a dull ping and Cullen finds himself being led out by his own grip. "That's me at the end of the hall. All the way down there. Please don't say anything else that's going to make me want to kiss you right now. There's a little old lady in 612 that darns my socks but will _never_ let me live that down. Wynne's an evil, _evil_ woman."

Cullen laughs a little as Alistair drags him down the hall. His ears and the back of his neck still delightfully red and a curl of mischievousness makes Cullen want to push a bit. He strokes the inside of Alistair's wrist with his thumb and counts the doors they're passing.

"Run then, because I've been thinking about nothing but kissing you for the past two hours," Cullen doesn't have to work to make his voice low and rough, because it's not entirely a lie.

Alistair's broader than Cullen and barely rocks when Cullen walks into his back when he abruptly stops. Cullen wipes the grin off his face as he catches the number on the closest door and doesn't back away from Alistair when he spins. Red again, or still, but that doesn't matter anymore when they kiss.

Alistair's arm winds firmly along Cullen's lower back. Pulling him in tight as he bypasses the normal exploratory brush of lips and goes straight for _devouring_. Alistair's hungry and dominating, stealing the amusement Cullen felt and most of his higher functions as well.

"Do you have any idea how much you lick your lips?" Alistair asks when he pulls back. Voice thick and rough even as he's whining.

Cullen doesn't and he doesn't care. Alistair trips a little when Cullen pushes him forward. No longer thinking about anything else but getting to the end of the hall. Now.

Alistair fumbles the keys and Cullen doesn't fare much better when he snatches them away, but someone must be looking down on them favorably because they manage to stumble into the apartment -small and not neat so much as devoid of objects- before any hands wander into dangerous areas.

"What do you want?" Alistair asks between wet, sucking kisses. Pressed to his lips and neck and whatever skin is closest. Cullen groans because that's not a fair question to ask with Alistair's full weight pressing him into the wall next to the door and dragging his teeth lightly down Cullen's throat. "What do you like? I can- Oh!"

Alistair is all sleek muscle and soft skin under his shirt. His back is broad and firm under Cullen's hand as he runs both hands up it. Dragging his shirt up a bit before going back down. He's wearing a belt so Cullen lets his hands curve over his ass on top of the scratchy jeans. He lets his own legs slide apart more as the grip makes Alistair buck forward into him. Hard already or getting there enough for Cullen to feel the evidence of it through their clothing, and that's enough to narrow all the possibilities down to one thing. "I want you to fuck me."

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[The rest of this fic can be found offsite in order to comply with site guidelines about rating. See author bio for list of links to fics that have been edited, or were unable to be hosted on the site. Newest ones are added at the bottom.]

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